Anodyne
by LostinOblivion
Summary: "Anodyne: n. anything that relieves distress or pain" -online dictionary. Morgan/Prentiss friendship. Rated for adult situations.


_Alright, I'm doing some spring cleaning on my computer, going though all my almost-done and half-done stories, and finishing what's decent and discarding what isn't salvageable. Here's the first one. Thanks for reading, and please review!_

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_She could still see the look in his eyes when he shot that kid, the naked hopelessness as he was forced to pull the trigger. She wished she'd done it for him, because that look was so utterly heartbreaking on his beautiful face.

The three of them—she, Morgan and Reid—had given the locals their statements on the shooting, and made sure copies would be faxed to the Bureau. Just like good little agents. Then it was back to the hotel to pack, and meeting JJ, Hotch, and Rossi at the jet. Morgan hadn't made a peep the whole flight, just slipped his headphones on, and tuned the world out. Prentiss had spent the flight losing a game of chess to Reid (one that neither of them were particularly into), and glancing worriedly at Morgan.

They'd gotten two addresses on their unsub that morning. Hotch sent them to one, and the others went to the second address. JJ and Hotch had chased down the unsub, and Rossi had located his trophies in the old house. She, Morgan and Reid discovered the second house to be a gang hangout. It was abandoned and broken down, and four boys had been swigging cheap vodka and smoking weed. They were also each carrying a tricked-out 22 caliber pistol with a 25 round magazine.

Three kids ran. One decided he was a badass, and started firing. Reid was almost hit, and Morgan made the kill shot, or shots rather. Three in the kid's chest, standard FBI burst pattern in the center of mass. The boy was fifteen years-old. A goddamned baby, who died covered in red, and the orange and black of his gang colors. He was a thug and a criminal, but he was still a kid, and had the young, sweet face of a kid.

And, the hysterical mother to go with it.

Emily trudged in her door and dropped her go-bag beside the stairs. Up until the morning, the case really hadn't been bad, at least by their usual standards. She fell onto the sofa and kicked off her boots, stowing them under the coffee table. Not like she had anyone to bitch that she wasn't being neat anyway. Prentiss blew into her hands and cradled her head, before stretching out and leaning back, allowing the couch to take her weight. Her head relaxed into the cushion, and she let her eyes drift closed.

Then a knock startled her into a dramatic jump. She sighed. The BAU made her way too damn paranoid. Or was that all the ghosts from her past? God only knew.

Prentiss dragged herself to the door, less than enthusiastic at the prospect of a visitor, and got a surprise in her peephole. Morgan?

"Hey," she greeted opening the door.

"Hey," he said, voice glum. She pulled the door open wider, and moved aside to let him in.

He went to the sofa in much the same fashion she had, slow, deliberate, weary movements, and plopped down, head in his hands. He still had that look on his face. The little boy that was told, not only was there no Santa Claus, but the fat man in the mall that offered him a candy cane to become one of his elves was actually a pedophile. The world had suddenly become unbearably dark and bleak, and he had no idea how to deal with it.

Emily sat beside him, and took his hand between both of hers. They weren't the kind of people that saw much light in the world to begin with. At fifteen she was screwing boys to fit in, and getting an abortion to wash away the evidence. He was being molested by a man that he should have been able to trust. Really, they hadn't been much different than that boy. Their innocence had been destroyed, and they'd both been terrified, hopeless and desperate.

God, no wonder they could see into the heads of the worst of humanity.

A soft sob disturbed her thoughts, and she turned to see his cheeks already wet. Had she ever seen him cry? No, she didn't think so, not even after Garcia had been shot. He'd masked his pain with anger.

Face drawn with sorrow, she put a hand on his baldhead, and gently coaxed him into leaning into her. It was less of a challenge than she expected, but then it was what he'd come here for, and that did surprise her. That Morgan would let her see him vulnerable, and that he'd come to her rather than anyone else. Or, at least Garcia.

Her holding him somehow morphed into him holding her, not unlike a child with his favorite teddy bear. His strong arms wrapped around her waist and her back, anchoring her to his very firm chest. His face was planted in her neck, and she held him with on hand on his back, and the other on the back of his head. It had been a long time since she'd been anyone's teddy bear, it wasn't really a role that suited her, but with Morgan it wasn't a hardship. It was only temporary, he'd eventually let her go, and that's what she needed to know.

She leaned her head against his, and whispered in his ear, "I'm so sorry, Derek, but it isn't your fault that that kid was what he was, and it isn't your fault he chose to shoot instead of run."

He tightened his grip on her in response, and then his head moved, and she thought he'd had enough. Emily gasped when his lips brushed her neck, and her eyes widened as he began trailing kisses over her collarbone.

That's why he chose her.

She should have been offended. She should have been pissed. She was more flattered than anything else. Derek Morgan did not trust people, that was practically a natural law. But, tonight it seemed, he was trusting her. He needed someone he could be both vulnerable and intimate with, a role that would typically be filled by a girlfriend. He didn't have girlfriends though, he had conquests. He could have gone after some anonymous conquest, had sex with her, cried on her shoulder, and then never seen her again. It would have been easier, certainly less complicated.

But, he needed to trust someone tonight, to let someone else take the guilt and the hopelessness, like he'd never done when he was a scared teenage boy. He'd decided he could trust her, and that was a gift. So, it took her all of two minutes to decide to give him what he wanted, what he needed—without regrets.

When he finally made it to her mouth, Emily parted her lips and gave him the only okay he needed. He seemed surprised at first, and then he kissed her with a ferocity that was almost overwhelming. Once on the same page, she took Morgan's hand, and led him up the stairs into her bedroom. He was holding her and kissing her almost as soon as they got through the door.

His movements were frantic, desperate almost. One minute his fingers were lost, tangled in her hair, the next they were on her hips, lifting her onto the bed before she could even react. Then his shirt was off and he was leaning over her, and she found she didn't mind at all. She finally got to do something she wanted to do for ages, ever since he offered to let her, and she turned him down.

Her fingers found those abs he was so proud of, trailing across the firm mountains and valleys that made up that amazing network of muscles. Prentiss continued her examination over his chest, fingers grazing his nipples as she studied every inch of his body. When her hands got to his arms, fingers running over his thick biceps, he decided he had enough, and pulled her up, closer to his mouth. She pulled her top off while Morgan worked her bra, quickly and efficiently. Then Emily was flat on her back again, moaning as he feasted on her breasts.

Their pants were off, and he was kissing his way down her belly, as she tried to concentrate on reaching into her nightstand. Her hand was in the drawer when Morgan slipped his tongue beneath the waistband of her panties. She gasped and her eyes went wide, her concentration successfully broken. Between his tongue and his fingers, he made grabbing a condom from the drawer a much more difficult task than it should have been. And, she was pretty sure he enjoyed giving her the challenge, considering the small smile once she'd reached her fifth gasped, 'oh, damn it!"

When Prentiss had finally grabbed the pesky little package, she returned the favor. One hand down his boxers, the other flicking teasingly across his neck, she took her time working him into a frenzy. Once he'd gotten the condom on, he took control back, yanking off her panties and stealing her breath with a very passionate kiss. He stole the first scream his fingers generated too, but after he entered her, he wasn't in enough control to torture her any longer.

She came first, and had barely seconds to catch her breath before he pressed on, getting closer and closer to the edge. With one final almost painfully deep thrust, he came, a visceral, primal scream erupting from his mouth. Spent, he let himself fall on top of her, grasping at her, needing her, planting his face again in her neck. He panted heavily, hot breath teasing her skin, his heart still pounding, and Emily put her arms around him, gently stroking his naked back. She wrapped her legs around him too, as if trying to shield him with her body, protect him as he gave in to vulnerability.

He didn't weep. She half expected him too, but after a minute he shook loose, rolled onto his side, and pulled her close again. Morgan kissed her shoulder, and buried his face in her neck, one arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to his chest. Normally, she wasn't much for spooning, but then she doubted he was normally either. The night was decidedly not normal.

Prentiss listened to his breathing even out, wondering what they'd say to each other in the morning. Morning. She flung out an arm to set the alarm clock twenty minutes early. They had work tomorrow, and she had a feeling it would take a bit longer than usual to get ready.

Then she followed him into slumber.


End file.
